The chickens cackle when I say
I’m baking bread from scratch
“You don’t know Scratch!
you bought that flour
from far-off, unknown ground
and where’d you find the salt?”

The roosters crow
“Oh Revelry!”
such tastiness we’ve found!”
they scratch and summon, loud and proud
the yard and woods a smorgasbord
“Such clever birds are we!”
The chickens haven’t lost the knack
of making eggs from scratch
(or surrendering to the luxury
of a leisurely mid-day dust bath
in the hollow of the toppled oak
or singing soft on the front porch of an evening.)

The chickens know
the chickens show me
scratch into This Earth
sow the seeds to feed yourself
(yes, even you, forgetful human)
Food comes from the Ground!